


The Cat’s Fugue

by Remeinhu



Category: Seraphina - Rachel Hartman, Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Canon Polyamorous Character, Classical Music, Deadpan Snarker Kitty, F/F, Families of Choice, Gen, Grief, Implied Sexual Content, Memory, Multi, Music, Music Lessons, Past Rape/Non-con, Queer Families, Unconventional Families, harpsichord, harpsichord lessons, katanna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 12:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25849291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remeinhu/pseuds/Remeinhu
Summary: As Katherine Howard recovers her instrumental skills from her previous life, she realizes she needs a teacher in order to make further progress. Alas, given her history with music lessons, she'll need to be selective--but harpsichord teachers are hardly a dime a dozen.Enter Seraphina Dombegh.
Relationships: Anne of Cleves/Katherine Howard, Seraphina Dombegh/Princess Glisselda/Lucian Kiggs
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to do a fic where Seraphina becomes Kitty's music teacher for an age, but haven't been sure what the plot would be beyond that. (Still not truly sure, in all honesty--but here goes!)

As the years passed and she and her fellow queens grew more and more settled in their new world, Kitty began to realize how badly she missed music.

Not that her life was devoid of it; after all, she sang and danced for a living. Yet she felt, after all this time, drawn back to instrumental music with an intensity that surprised her. She found she missed feeling the cool, smooth keys of the virginals beneath her slender, nimble fingers, missed extending her arms across the keyboard and leaning in and swaying a little (she knew she was supposed to stay still and erect but sometimes she couldn’t resist), missed the brilliant sparkle of the plucked strings. She was bitterly proud that Mannox had been unable to steal her delight in music, and for a time she ensured that would remain the case by concentrating strictly on vocal music and directing her energies to the new, popular forms of the 21st century.

Lately, however, she’d been venturing out to concerts on her nights off, and to her surprise she’d found herself gravitating towards those that featured baroque music, played on period instruments. She couldn’t explain it, exactly, but it seemed to strike just the right balance for her. The tones and the instrumentation felt _right_ and familiar to her, but the complexity of the harmonies and chord progressions made the whole experience different enough that it didn’t send her back to her step-grandmother’s house and Mannox’s tender mercies.

The more concerts she attended, the more she wanted that skill back. She began saving money to purchase a harpsichord, having decided that her past experience on the virginals would translate best to that. (Lute, she feared, remained a bridge too far). Once she had put away enough money for an entry-level instrument, she proposed the purchase to the other queens, who, after a brief (and to her mind, wholly irritating) flurry of concern, agreed that they could make a space for it in the living room.

The instrument arrived with much hassle and fanfare (for the first week Anne, on whose unfortunate big toe the thing had landed at one point, glared at it every time she passed). Soon the house was often filled, first with tentative fumblings punctuated by florid swearing, and then with flurries of brilliant, shimmering melodies. Everyone’s mood seemed sunnier—Anne was quickly won over, and even Cathy, whose sensitivity to noise meant that she had at first been the most skeptical of the lot, found herself grounded by the even volume, bright tone, and steady rhythm that Kitty’s hands coaxed from the instrument.

Kitty, however, quickly recovered the extent of her training and skill from her previous life and was soon hungry for more. She knew she needed a teacher, but for obvious reasons she was reluctant to place herself at the mercy of just anyone in that particular relationship. Alas, even in a metropolis like London, beggars can hardly be choosers where something so specialized as a harpsichord teacher is concerned. She had no idea how to determine whether a teacher was trustworthy, although she knew she’d feel safer if the teacher in question weren’t a cisgender man. Anna and Anne had each offered to accompany her, but she knew she couldn’t ask either of them to do so indefinitely.

All this was in the back of Kitty’s mind one night after a show as the queens greeted their public at the stage door. Just then she spied a familiar face—could it be? Yes, the owlish features, the serious expression, the dark, straight hair, and the tall, slender form were unmistakable. This was Seraphina Dombegh, the harpsichordist whose playing she’d enjoyed perhaps most of all, who had come to see the show; better yet, she was making straight for her.

Kitty quickly excused herself from the conversation she and Catalina had been holding with a gaggle of teenagers and greeted the harpsichordist. “Ms. Dombegh! Forgive my forwardness, but I’ve so enjoyed your recitals lately, and I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ve come tonight! I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself?”

Seraphina bowed her head slightly. “Very much so, Ms. Howard, thank you. I had been wanting to attend for quite a while, but I’ve only just had something of a respite from my own performance duties. I’m so glad I was able to make it; it was such good fun! I particularly loved how the musical motifs in your songs were in subtle conversation throughout—especially between yours and Anna’s. The way some of the musical figures in her song echo in yours, alongside the echoed choreography—it’s brilliantly done, and heartbreaking, really. And then the flute descant in your verse in ‘Six’ providing an answer and a hopeful counterstory to the more ominous flute harmony in your solo…although,” she added after a moment’s hesitation, “I expect you hear that rather a lot, and at this point it must be quite routine for you…”

Kitty was utterly charmed by the woman, whose forthrightness and enthusiasm reminded her of Cathy. “Not at all! I’m just thrilled you picked up on the musical subtleties; so few people seem to!” She found herself tempted to let her guard down. “I hope you liked the use of harpsichord throughout? I’ve actually just started playing, myself—I used to play the virginals, and I hoped it would translate well enough. I’d love to build my skill more, but I’m not sure how to go about finding a good teacher, and as you can imagine it’s important to me to find someone trustworthy. I don’t suppose you have someone you could recommend?”

“Me,” Seraphina responded without hesitation.

“Really? I truly didn’t mean to impose!”

“It would be no imposition at all. In fact, I’ve been trying to build a small studio. We’ve recently had a baby, and with Glisselda’s and Kiggs’s work taking them away so frequently, I’d prefer to do more work from home for a time. Might we exchange contact information? Then we can discuss scheduling and rates.”

As she exchanged numbers with Seraphina, Kitty could hardly believe her luck.


	2. Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitty arrives at Seraphina's flat for her first harpsichord lesson, where she meets two more members of Seraphina's complex chosen family.

A week later, Kitty followed Seraphina’s very peculiar directions to her flat, hovering between anxiety, excitement, and amusement at the woman’s quirky, punctilious detail.

“Google maps will attempt to send you along main roads,” she had written. “Google maps, however, is incorrect. Rather, when you reach the neighborhood you must keep an eye out for a hedge that looks conspicuously like a dragon behind a squat little church. At this point, make a sharp left into what is to all appearances an alleyway…”

Kitty thought this sounded utterly daft, but she went along with it and was rather startled when she arrived at the flat a solid five minutes earlier than Google had predicted. She rang the bell and was further surprised when the person who answered was not Seraphina, but a petite, baby-faced woman with a nimbus of golden curls who grinned cheekily as she looked Kitty over.

“Well!” she said in a girlish soprano—though Kitty didn’t miss the steely undertone in her voice. “You must be Phina’s new student! Kitty, is it? Come in!” Before Kitty could respond, the smaller woman propelled her inside. “Sit, sit!” She gestured broadly at the sofa, enthroning herself in an armchair once Kitty had carefully perched on the edge of a cushion.

“Thank you—” Kitty trailed off and gave her a questioning look.

“Oh, how _rude_ of me, I’ve not introduced myself! I’m Glisselda; Phina may have mentioned me?”

“Ah yes, she had! A pleasure.”

“Likewise! Anyway, Lucian and I were _so_ jealous that Phina got to see your show—I’ve been dying to see it for ages, but we’ve both been so overwhelmed at work lately, and when there was a night we could get a sitter for Zythia we both told Phina to just go for it.” Her short laugh was a silvery glissando. “And who would have thought she’d bring you right home to us? But then again, she’s always had a knack for collecting kindred spirits.”

“Selda, if you are quite finished monopolizing my student, I’d appreciate it if you’d put Zythia down for her nap.” Seraphina strode into the living room, carrying a baby of perhaps eight months who stared solemnly down at Kitty and Glisselda.

“But of course, darling!” Glisselda sprang to her feet and swept Zythia into her arms, planting a firm kiss on Seraphina’s lips as she did so. “Come, Zythia, Mummy will read you the latest tweaks to her brief on asylum claims in her most florid legalese, and if that doesn’t put you right to sleep I don’t know what will.” Kitty felt an odd pang at the sight of her clear affection for the infant—why, she wasn’t quite sure—but she resolutely shoved it away.

Seraphina watched them head towards the bedrooms with undisguised fondness. “Selda is a force of nature. Don’t let her fool you—she may look like an innocent without a serious thought in her head, but she has a political mind like no one I’ve ever met. She runs a legal aid organization for refugees, and anyone who underestimates her tends to get what they deserve. It’s lucky she was able to work from home today; Kiggs has been out chasing down a story and wearing himself ragged, poor dear, and we’ve been a bit shorthanded.” She gave Kitty a knowing look. “Not, I’m sure, that you know _anything_ about being treated like nothing more than a pretty face.”

Kitty smirked. “I’m sure I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Kitty is the baby of the six, and she _must_ be protected, after all.”

Seraphina gestured to the harpsichord in the opposite corner of the room. “I have no intention of babying you. Why don’t you have a seat on the bench and show me what you can do?”

____

Fifty minutes later, after Seraphina had put her through several rounds of scales and arpeggios, etudes, and finally a full suite of sixteenth century court dances, Kitty was torn between relief and regret when she finally called a halt. She _was_ exhausted, but Seraphina’s harpsichord had a wonderful tone—all thunder in the bass notes and silver bells in the treble—and she hated to stop playing it.

“Well?” she asked. “How am I?”

“Katherine Howard, I am quite impressed,” Seraphina replied. “You have an intuitive musicality about you, and it’s clear how much you love playing—you lean into the instrument almost as if you mean to embrace it. You have some real improvisational flair, as well—you have the desire and the ability not just to recite the material but to take a genuinely active role in shaping it. What we need to do is build your skill and your understanding of theory to match that ability.

“Your foundation,” she continued, “is actually solid enough. What I think we’ll do is begin with some pieces that build on the dance suite forms you’re used to, but add elements you won’t have learned yet. May I have the bench?” Kitty moved over to a stool to accommodate Seraphina as she placed some sheet music in front of her. “This suite was written by a French woman, Elisabeth Jacquet de la Guerre, in the 1680s. You’ll recognize the basic structure: Prelude, Allemande, Courante, Gigue, and so on. We’ll start with the Prelude. As I play, watch my hands, and listen for the ways it sounds _different_ than what you know so far…”

__________ 

Kitty left Seraphina's flat bursting with excitement to begin working on the stately, glittering Prelude, more charmed than ever by her new teacher. At the same time, meeting Glisselda and Zythia and hearing them all casually discuss Kiggs had left her with some questions which nagged her, even as she knew they were really none of her business.

“They seem to have a rather interesting living arrangement,” Kitty remarked to Anna later that night as they sat on Anna’s bed.

“Oh?”

“There’s Seraphina, and then Glisselda, whom I met, and there’s apparently a man who’s either named Lucian or Kiggs, and they talk about baby Zythia as though she’s equally their child. I don’t quite get it.”

“Kätzchen,” Anna replied pointedly, “I’d say none of us is really in a position to discuss ‘interesting’ living arrangements. We all grew up in massive noble households with servants and wards and ladies-in-waiting and governesses, and now we live in a collective house that contains two established couples and one set of casual best friends-with-frequent-benefits who, between the two of them, function as _de facto_ mothers to the rest of us. And that is before you factor in our relationships with Maria, Maggie, Bessie, and Joan, let alone the internal dynamics of _their_ household. If there’s any ‘interesting’ living arrangement, it’s this ‘nuclear family’ _Albernheit_ everyone seems so hung up on these days.”

“That’s fair. But the four of them seem to be a pretty self-contained unit, and while Seraphina’s hardly demonstrative, she seems to talk about them both as though they’re her romantic partners. And Glisselda, at least, is _awfully_ demonstrative towards her.”

Anna shrugged. “So they’re probably a polyamorous triad, or a vee. I can’t imagine you haven’t at least read about this by now.”

“Of course I have! It’s just that our social circle outside of work is limited, so this is my first real-life encounter!”

“So?” Anna raised an eyebrow. “What’s it to you?”

Kitty let out a long sigh. “Nothing, I suppose. Or it shouldn’t be, I know that. Partly it’s sheer good-for-nothing nosiness, but I think it’s also envy. They get to have this arrangement that seems to work happily for all of them without it being much of a bother, while I lost my head over the mere suspicion that I was shtupping someone other than my husband?” She rubbed her neck reflexively. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m _glad_ they can do what makes them happy! It just all feels very unfair.”

She didn’t add that the trio’s (well, she hadn’t met Kiggs, but she assumed the same of him) simple and limitless affection for Zythia drew out some jealous feelings as well. She didn’t really understand why, and in any case, what sort of harpy would be jealous of a _baby?_

Anna seemed to sense that there was more to Kitty’s disquiet than she was letting on, but she wisely didn’t press it. “I can certainly see why you’d feel that way, Kätzchen. I know you aren’t being judgmental. Our histories are a lot, and they tend to ambush us in ways we don’t expect.”

Kitty scowled. “You’re not going to scold me for being a jealous, closed-minded bitch?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but no. Unless, that is, you wanted me to do it recreationally.”

“Hmph. You’re irritatingly unflappable.”

“ _Ja, das ist richtig._ ” Anna leaned back against the pillows, coolly examining her short, meticulously trimmed fingernails.

“Feh, don’t break out the _smug_ German. That’s playing dirty, and you know it.”

“ _Natürlich weiß ich das._ ”

“Fine, fine, I yield!”

“ _Gut._ Now take your clothes off.”

“You have _such_ a one-track mind,” Kitty groused, but she shed her shirt with enthusiasm.

Anna raised an eyebrow. “And you have a problem with this?”

“Not in the slightest,” Kitty purred, before she pounced on Anna and made sure her smug, _infuriatingly_ reasonable mouth was otherwise occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Anna, perpetual voice of reason, how I love you.
> 
> Albernheit= foolishness, silliness  
> Ja, das ist richtig= yes, that's correct  
> Natürlich weiß ich das= of COURSE I know that
> 
> You can find a video of the piece Seraphina assigns Kitty-- the Prelude from Elisabeth Jacquet de la Guerre’s Suite in G minor--here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJ_dw1Jql-U&list=RDTpEg0vYmlzo&index=2


	3. Episode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seraphina introduces Kitty to a new piece, and a new musical form. Unexpectedly, however, when Kitty hears the main theme, it triggers memories of Jocasta.

Seraphina watched Kitty’s fingers dance across the keyboard with unalloyed pleasure. The woman had a sensitivity and artistry about her that spoke to Seraphina’s soul; what was more, she had an intuitive grasp of theory and a flair for improvisation that made Seraphina want to teach her composition.

In fact, she’d been making slow moves in that direction already, setting Kitty exercises in which she asked her to take a musical theme and reinterpret it in the form of the dance suites she knew so well. In this way, Kitty had found herself, after a few stumbles, fluidly playing the riff from “Ex-Wives” in the style of a prelude. “Heart of Stone” became a pavane, “Get Down,” appropriately, an allemande, and, in the most challenging of the tasks, she managed to recognizably translate “Don’t Lose Ur Head” into a gigue, even though it required her to change it from a duple to a triple meter.

Kitty, she thought, should continue building toward outright composition with these kinds of exercises, but she was also ready, Seraphina had decided, to take on more complex musical forms than the dance suites she’d clearly mastered.

It was time to introduce her to the fugue.

_____

“Brilliantly done!” Seraphina applauded as Kitty concluded the final movement of the Jacquet de la Guerre suite with a flourish. “I think you’ve truly mastered these forms. Do you feel ready to move on to something a bit more complicated?”

Kitty nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I’d really like to leave the sixteenth century for a while, too.”

“You,” Seraphina replied, “are in luck. The piece I have in mind for you was published in the first half of the eighteenth century. But before I tell you more about it, can you tell me what a fugue is?”

“Hm.” Kitty pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I’ve read some about it. It’s a form of counterpoint, correct? When I was learning in my first life, it referred to any music in which different voices repeated a theme, whether or not they played around with it at all. But I think it’s come to mean something much more complex and specific, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, correct on all fronts. The form reached what most consider its height in the Baroque period, during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. In this form, there must be at least two voices, and there are usually more. The first voice introduces the theme in the tonic, or main key. That’s called the subject; then, in the first part of the fugal structure, called the exposition, the other voices state the theme in the dominant or subdominant keys; those are answers. Then various voices modulate and fragment the theme in what are called episodes, but the theme also recurs throughout in these voices, though the order in which those voices may state the subject and answers may vary. This,” she concluded, “sounds fiendishly complicated, but it should make more sense once you hear it.”

“So what’s the piece?” Kitty felt slightly daunted, but she was also eager to sink her teeth into the new material.

Seraphina motioned for Kitty to cede the bench to her. “Domenico Scarlatti’s Fugue in G Minor, popularly known as ‘The Cat’s Fugue.’ There’s a story—probably apocryphal, but charming nevertheless—that Scarlatti took down the theme, which, as you’ll hear, is rather odd, after his cat walked across his keyboard and produced this series of notes.” She played a phrase, which was indeed fairly strange-sounding. “I’m going to play it for you. Watch my hands, as always, and keep track of how many times you hear that motif occur throughout, and in which voices.” She spread the sheet music out in front of her and began to play.

_____

Kitty settled on the stool next to the harpsichord’s bench and watched as Seraphina began to play. Immediately she noticed how odd-sounding the intervals in the opening measure were—very much as if they had indeed been created by a cat traipsing across the keys. There was something else about the notes, too, that unsettled her, but she tried to shake it off, to focus on Seraphina’s hands and to listen for that odd theme—the _subject,_ Seraphina had said it was called—as it came in again and again in different keys, creating a complex tapestry of melody and countermelody.

Surely enough, the theme came up again and again—here high, here low—and every time she heard it, the feeling of disquiet—behind her eyes and in the back of her throat, she realized—grew. At first she thought, in utter frustration (she was _so_ weary of this) that it was the beginning of yet another panic attack, but the tightness in her chest never came, leaving her both relieved and puzzled.

Then, around two minutes in, as the first, ascending notes of the theme repeated in three distinct voices within beats of each other, she was back at Lambeth, and it was 1527, and she was a girl of four, sitting at the virginals upon her mother’s lap and plunking tunelessly, joyfully, at the keys.

And that, she realized, as her throat began to ache and her ongoing, inexplicable envy of Zythia began to make some sense, was one of the last times anyone had touched and indulged her out of uncomplicated affection, at least until she had met Anna.

She had so few memories of Jocasta, who in retrospect must have already begun to fall ill on that day when she’d boosted her up to touch the keyboard for the first time. What little recall she possessed was of a warm, kind woman with a voice like cool water, a laughing mouth, and sad eyes, worn out by ten births and bound to endure yet one more. And yet for all her exhaustion, Kitty remembered, she could always spare a smile and a pat for “my sweete Catkin.” On special occasions there might be a bit of marchpane, a bright snippet of ribbon, perhaps even a quick little dance. And there was, of course, that wonderful morning—as the theme came in again and again it brought back more of the memory, and Kitty now thought it must have been a brisk autumn day, for there had been a sharp smell of woodsmoke in the air and a glint of golden leaves outside the window—when she had sat her upon her lap at the virginals, and Kitty had marveled that she could create such glorious, bright noises—she imagined that this was what Heaven must sound like— with a mere touch of her fingers.

It was so strange—in all the years since she’d come back, she hadn’t consciously thought of Jocasta once. She’d been so small when she died, after all, so the whole thing seemed to pale in comparison to the sexual abuse, the whirlwind Queenship, the accusations, the trial, the execution, and, to top it all off, the reincarnation in a new and alien world. She’d learned to expect emotional responses, especially those triggered by touch or smell or sound, to be dramatic, jagged, muddied, and fraught. And so perhaps it was to be expected that she was confused when the fugue’s casually atonal theme made her feel simply and powerfully _sad._

There was pain, but there was no fear, no panic—just sorrow. Sorrow for the kind, gentle woman who’d been worn out and spent too soon. Sorrow for the little girl who would have to face a harsh and deadly world without Jocasta’s love and protection. Sorrow for herself, now—a woman out of time and place who suddenly, simply, acutely _missed_ her mother.

And so when Seraphina finished playing and turned to Kitty to ask if she wanted to try the first bars herself, she saw tears streaming down the other woman’s face, and hastily revised her plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this fic, I’ve arbitrarily settled on a birth year of 1523 for Kitty. 
> 
> I couldn’t find much in the way of historical documentation as to what Jocasta (also known as Joyce) Culpeper was actually like, so I’ve fabricated her character more or less out of whole cloth. We do know she was married twice and gave birth to 11 children.
> 
> A video of Scarlatti’s “Cat’s Fugue” can be found here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbW1nNBqVnI


	4. Stretto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over boozy tea, Kitty and Seraphina discuss memories, music, and deceased mothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Passing mention of roofied drinks.

Seraphina had never considered herself to be particularly talented at giving comfort, but she couldn’t look at Kitty’s face and not at least try. She hurried over to the coffee table and retrieved a box of tissues, which she handed over wordlessly.

Kitty wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Thanks.”

“Of course, Kitty.” Seraphina hesitantly reached out a hand, awkwardly placing it on Kitty’s own at the other woman’s nod. “Perhaps a break is in order. Tea?”

“That would be much appreciated.”

“Excellent.” She strode into the kitchen and started the kettle. “Come join me in here at the table. Would Irish Breakfast suit?”

Kitty came into the kitchen and sat down heavily. “Yes, thank you. I take mine with cream and two spoonfuls of sugar. And perhaps some whiskey if you’ve got it,” she added wryly. She’d meant it as a joke, but Seraphina simply nodded and retrieved a square-edged bottle from an upper cabinet.

“I’ve become rather too fond of this,” she commented. “They make it in Tennessee; it’s named after the formerly enslaved fellow who taught Jack Daniel everything he knew about distilling.” She poured them each a cup, offering Kitty cream, sugar, and a spoon, and setting the whiskey bottle between them at the table. “Help yourself.”

Kitty dressed her tea and added a generous pour of the whiskey. She took a sip. “Oh, my, that _is_ good stuff.” She took another sip, then set her cup down and sighed. “I suppose you’re wondering what all that was about.”

“Yes, I was. But I won’t press you.” She pursed her lips. “I’ve no intention of making music lessons a place where you’re forced to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I appreciate it, thank you. But contrary to what has begun to seen like popular expectation, it wasn’t about _that_ at all. It was about a different memory, though…” She paused. “Do you find that particular musical phrases ever trigger very, very vivid memories for you? Memories that are so long ago that they should be far fuzzier, especially if you were very small when the event happened?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Seraphina’s answer. “Memory is, for me, both a gift and a curse. I’ve clear memories of being born, in fact, as well as receiving my psalter Saint. And I have several times had vivid, dormant memories awakened by a particular cue—a sight, sometimes, a sound or a musical phrase, otherwise. It’s common, I’m told, among my mother’s family; they call them ‘mind-pearls.’”

At Seraphina’s mention of her own mother, Kitty felt her throat tighten again, and she swallowed hard. “Well, the theme from the fugue seems have triggered something like what you call a ‘mind-pearl’ for me. It was a happy memory by itself, actually—of when I was four, and my mother put me on her lap and let me play with the virginals. I suppose the theme must have sounded similar to some pattern I plunked out then. I was so thrilled—who knew one could make such heavenly sounds just with one’s fingers? And mother was so happy to let me just explore.”

Seraphina quirked a smile. “We should all have such parents. I look forward to when Zythia’s old enough for that—though for all I know, she’ll have no interest in music whatsoever, and I suppose I shall have to practice being at peace with it.”

Kitty smiled sadly. “Zythia is a lucky child to have three parents who care for her so much.”

Seraphina peered at her sharply. “I sense a ‘but.’”

“You’ll think I’m horrid.”

“Not impossible, I suppose, but vanishingly unlikely.”

Kitty heaved a sigh. “I’m jealous of her for it.”

Seraphina laughed sharply, startling Kitty. “That’s all? It’s entirely understandable.”

“Seraphina, I just admitted to being jealous of a _baby._ ”

“And as I told you, it’s understandable. We’re three adults who absolutely adore our one child and one another. That’s a great deal of love in one household, and I don’t get the sense you had the same luxury. Why wouldn’t you envy it?”

“You’re not wrong.” The words came out rather more bitterly than Kitty had intended.

“Your mother sounds kind, though.”

“She was. She died when I was five, not long after that memory. That’s the last I remember having been simply _adored._ Before this life, I mean. And I just…I miss her. I barely knew her, but I knew she loved me, and the music reminded me that I miss her. So damn much.”

There was a long silence during which Kitty wondered whether she had shared too much. Seraphina’s expression was, as usual, inscrutable.

Then, she spoke. “My mother died giving birth to me. She and my father had made something of a _mesaliance_ , and so I had to discover a great deal about her on my own. My father worked very hard to keep her hidden—when he found me trying to teach myself on her flute, he broke it in a fit of rage. But by then I’d learned that I’d gotten my music from her, and I wasn’t to be put off. Soon I found that music would trigger certain memories of her, and I grew to miss her and admire her greatly, even though I never got to meet her properly.”

She’d delivered this information in a near monotone, but her voice softened as she continued. “The three of us are something of guild of dead mothers, I’m afraid. Both of Kiggs’ parents—another _mesalience_ there—were killed in an accident when he was a boy. When Glisselda was fifteen, someone spiked her mother’s drink, and she had a fatal reaction to it. If we’re committed to being as devoted to Zythia as possible, it’s partly to make up for what we lost. If anything, you could say we’re all parenting from jealousy.”

“I’m so sorry.” Kitty couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she reached carefully for Seraphina’s hand.

“It is what it is,” Seraphina said, matter-of-factly, although she didn’t wave Kitty’s hand away. “But this is all to say that you’re not alone in having intense reactions to music—it means you understand its power. Nor,” she added, “are you alone in missing your mother.”

They sat quietly together for a while after that, nursing their tea, and if they were both rather shiny-eyed at points, neither mentioned it to the other aside from passing the tissues back and forth. Finally Seraphina spoke. “Would you prefer a different piece to work on for now? I’ll of course understand if this one is too much.”

Kitty considered her suggestion. “No,” she decided at last. “I like it, and feeling simply _sad_ is, in a way, refreshing. I think I’d like to stick with it. Perhaps I can pour it back into the music.”

Seraphina favored her with a soft smile. “I have no doubt that you’ll do that, and do so beautifully.”

____

Later, as Kitty began to practice the first lines of the fugue, she let herself get lost in the memories of that crisp fall day with her mother. She tried to savor every bit of sensation from it—plump hands holding her steady as she stretched clumsily over the keys, thin lips pressed into the top of her head, a soft, low voice whispering encouragement into her ear.

She didn’t know which parts of the memory really happened, and which parts she was filling in from her own imagination, but she found she didn’t care. The form of the fugue—repetition, imitation, variation and flowing development—had shown her that through her music, she had the ability to revisit the past, to dwell in and embellish the good times, fleeting though they were. Her heart ached, and she knew it always would, but the tears she shed for Jocasta and for her past self felt somehow cleansing.

She wondered what other parts of her past the fugue would help her revisit—and, perhaps, to rewrite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seraphina and Kitty are drinking Uncle Nearest whiskey in their tea. If you’re into American whiskeys, it’s pretty damn delicious stuff, and it has quite the story behind it.


End file.
